


Unravel

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Weasleycest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 10:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5866468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron is at breaking point, and discovery sends him over the edge.</p><p>Written in 2010.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unravel

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Weasleycest, cross-dressing, oral, SUPER LOTS OF ANGST. Implications of past D/s. That illustrious 'club' which serves the sexual desire of the wizarding community *grin*  
> Prompt: Navy corset and a secret.

“I'm gonna stay late and try and sort through the stock room,” George made a face. “You go on up, though, you've been at work all day.”  
“I think I'm going to go out tonight, so... I'll probably not see you until the morning,” Ron heard the tension in his own voice and winced slightly.  
  
He was so on edge that his fingers were shaking. He quickly tucked them inside his pockets before George could notice.  
  
“Oh, well, have a good night then,” George smiled.  
  
Ron nodded and headed for the poky staircase leading from the back room of Wheezes to the flat above it. He took deep breaths as he went, trying to steel himself to, once again, see the fact that he was living out of boxes and relying on the only unattached brother he had for a roof over his head. His stomach squirmed.  
  
“Ron?” George called after him. “Are you alright? You look.... ill, to be honest.”  
“I'm fine,” Ron droned automatically, not stopping. “I'll see you in the morning.”  
  
He heard a mutter from beneath George's breath but didn't worry over the words. He pushed open the door to the flat, which, no matter what George did, was always going to smell slightly of dog, and kicked it gently shut behind him. His fingers were on the clasps of his robes before he even really thought about it, half-stripping himself before he'd even made it to the bedroom.  
  
George's flat was impossibly small and not made for two people. Two single beds remained crammed inside the tiny bedroom, the last remnant that George had allowed to stay from the days when Fred was alive, and the whole set-up was sickeningly claustrophobic. Ron dropped onto the one he slept in and looked down at his hands.  
  
His eyes drifted, as they always did at the end of a long Friday, to the boxes at the end of his bed, full of his possessions which there was luckily no room to unpack. Even if there had been, he wouldn't have, too ashamed by the contents to pull them out in front of his brother. As he thought about what lay within them -expensive fabric, adornments which his cock twitched at the thought of, he closed his eyes and moaned.  
  
There were only so many times he could lie to himself and say that the ending of his most recent relationship hadn't hit him hard. That man had been his everything for a year, and a man who pushed him into sexual exploration, let him discover what had turned out to be an excessive enjoyment of cross-dressing. And then, with very little effort, it had all been over, and Ron found himself adrift.  
  
He knew the family muttered behind his back, that it had all happened too quickly, that they had moved in together too early and it was bound to end in tears. Sometimes it felt as though they were glad that it had.  
  
But Ron was sure of one thing and that was that his poison, which he had freely drank for a year, was killing him in withdrawal. Living with his brother had meant that he hadn't even been able to try anything on for himself -when he was there, George was there, and in such a tiny space privacy was non-existent.  
  
That night was a first. He got to his feet and dragged his open Auror robes over his head, chucking them onto his bed without a care for the creases. He kicked out of his boots and socks and rolled his head in a circle. He shivered, cursing the fact that the building was always freezing.  
  
Quietly he stripped the spellotape from one of the boxes and reached for the first bag that he could see. He had packed so quickly on realising that things were heading to the dogs that he hadn't paid much attention, only focussing on collecting everything and sealing it so that George wouldn't see.  
  
Ron dressed as quickly as he could, stumbling over the soft fabrics. He sat down to roll the stockings up his legs, enjoying the feel of the gossamer on his skin and body hair. The knickers he had slipped into threatened to cut him in half as he sat there, but he ignored the cutting pressure, feeling the steady swell of his cock as the thrill moved through his blood.  
  
The blush on his cheeks and the pounding of his heart confused him. He had dressed himself plenty of times before and never had the reaction he was currently experiencing -he knew it well as one of shame. He tapped his wand at the lacing, once the corset was in place, and groaned as it tightened around his ribcage.  
  
It was, or had been, one of his ex's favourites, plain navy satin with matching knickers. Ron could almost hear the man telling him it brought out his eyes. He shivered, the longing overtaking him, though for the life of him Ron couldn't understand why he should want somebody who didn't want him back. The shivers became shudders, and before long, his entire body was trembling to set off his flaming face. Shame coursed through him like a drug, distorting his every view and his every thought.   
  
His plan had been to dress and if he felt he could, to make his way to the club they had frequented during the year. There were people there who appreciated him, people who understood his kink, people who sexually _wanted_ him.  
  
But with the shame flowed a sister poison, and that was need. Even though the items didn't carry his scent, Ron smelt the man, smelt the heat of his body and felt the touch of his hands. He remembered the way they had always adoringly skirted over his created hip curves, sliding down onto his thighs and toying with the tops of his stockings. Kisses were wet on his neck, breath hot in his ear. It all became a continual thrum of _wantwantwant_ in his mind and Ron gasped at the pain in his chest.  
  
Living with George had left him no time for the natural grieving process for his relationship. All his sad faces had been countered with a sympathetic smile which made him want to vomit. Nobody would understand quite what he had lost, or why he could not replace it.  
  
The thought of replacing the person who had brought him such freedom was repulsive, even though that person no longer thought him worth their time.  
  
Bringing his hands up to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes, Ron groaned, unable to take the realisation of his decline into madness. He believed that he had to be, to be hooked on something so twisted, to be in love with someone who had thrown him away no better than a man finished with his whore.  
  
The word repeated in his brain, insulting him over and over until the pressure was too much and he reached up, grabbing two handfuls of his hair and tugging until the sharp pain knocked sense into him again. He didn't release his grip but lifted his arms, removing the weight. His hair was longer, thanks to the past year -his lover had wanted it that way, and like a fool, Ron had given him everything he'd wanted -his virginity, his sense of self and worth, money. In his mind, there was no wonder his family were muttering behind his back.  
  
“Hey, Ron, do you think that we could-”  
“No!” he yelled, scrabbling for something, _anything_ to cover himself with, but it was too late. The door hit the wall and George froze on the threshold, his silhouette dark against the living room which was brightly lit. “Get out,” Ron breathed, turning to face the wall, his eyes brimming with tears he had no control over. “Get the fuck out, George.”  
  
There was silence from behind him and he stood there, his face burning and wet. He clenched his fists and stayed rigid, knowing that his brother, his flesh and blood, had seen his secret and what's more had a graphic view of his backside in knickers which had always been too small for him.  
  
Ron nearly died when, without warning, two warm hands touched to his hips, on top of the corset, and slid forward, creeping slowly. Warmth pressed into his back as the hands levelled with his belly. The fingers splayed, holding him tight. Ron couldn't breathe, let alone talk, so he waited. The press of soft lips into his neck sent his heart into overdrive.  
  
He could smell George on the air; his brother always smelt remarkably like ginger ale, though there was no reason for it. It swirled in his nostrils as the kiss on his neck came again, wetter, warmer; a tongue scraped against his skin.  
  
“So this is what you've been hiding,” George whispered in his ear, mouthing against it.  
“I...” Ron found he didn't have the words.  
“Shh,” George trailed one hand downwards, creeping over the fabric until there were only millimetres between his fingers and Ron's half-hard cock in the too-small knickers. “I wish you'd told me...”  
  
Everything stilled and Ron held his breath, tears coursing down his face in the silence as he waited for the judgement, for the harsh comments. They never came. Instead, warm kisses began to rain down on his neck and shoulder, wet and sloppy and so warm that he shivered.  
  
“G-George...”  
“You don't have to say anything,” the voice was low and husky. It was then that Ron realised what he felt pressing into his nearly-bare arse was a clothed erection.  
“What're you doing?” he asked weakly as the fingers at the base of his belly gave up the pretence and slipped into the front of his knickers. “George-”  
“Nothing I haven't done before,” George murmured back. “With other men.”  
“But we're-”  
“Do you really care?” George's voice grew stronger. “Are you going to tell me that you haven't been so _lonely_ since your boyfriend left you that these touches, even though they're mine, aren't everything you need at the minute?”  
  
Ron tried to answer, but found his throat thick and unwilling. His body was responding to the talented touches and he would be hard pressed to deny his obvious arousal.  
  
“I knew,” George whispered.  
  
A thrill crackled through Ron's veins as he gasped.  
  
“I knew,” George repeated, nuzzling into the side of his face. “Because there was something about you... the way you were holding yourself together, the way your shoulders were so tense and the way you refused to touch any of your belongings... I... looked. In the boxes.”  
“You went through my stuff?” Ron asked weakly.  
“To try and understand what you were hiding, so I could help you,” George sighed. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it... but once I knew... I've been trying to find a way and I...”  
“Now you've seen the full lot...” Ron whispered.  
  
A fresh wave of tears fell.  
  
“Look at me,” George turned him and Ron went, stumbling over his brother's feet, his own stockinged ones treading on the scuffed boots that George wore every day when he worked in the shop. It surprised him that a longing shiver passed through the stocky body in front of him. “You look beautiful.”  
“What?”  
“That's what this is about, isn't it?” George skirted one hand down the front of the corset. “You feel good, when you wear this?”  
“I used to,” Ron answered. “With him.”  
“He introduced you to this?”  
  
Ron nodded.  
  
“And now he's gone, is it the same?”  
  
He could only shake his head, making his hair fly and stick to his wet cheeks.  
  
George gave him a broken smile in reply and pulled him close again. The arms were supportive as they wrapped around Ron's waist, and when one hand fluttered down to rest on the curve of his buttocks, his breath hitched in his throat.  
  
“When Fred was alive,” George murmured suddenly. “Those beds were pushed together.”  
  
Ron blinked.  
  
“Do you understand what I'm saying?” George's tone cracked, as though, if Ron had not understood, he couldn't have bared spelling it out for him. “Well then I... you... if you want I think that we should...”  
“I don't want to drag you into this,” Ron licked his lips, tasting salty tears. “It's not... this is my...”  
“A problem shared, a problem halved... and I'm a half without his other. So... let's just forget problems, and forget what's right and what's wrong...” he raised his face and looked Ron in the eye. “And do what's right for you, at the minute.”  
  
When they kissed, Ron closed his eyes and forgot about how wet and hot his face was. He forgot that he was standing trussed up to the nines and in his brother's arms. The only thing he paid attention to was the kiss, which was sweet and hot; he accepted George's tongue and sucked on it lightly, before releasing it to his mouth at large. George moaned and held him tighter. Their breath became rough, huffing across each other's facial skin in warm gusts. Experimentally Ron rolled his hips and received a moan in reply. His blood pounded a little harder through his veins.  
  
It was a surprise when, all of a sudden, George grabbed him around the knees and hauled. To steady himself, Ron put an arm around George's neck and hid his face as he was laid out on the bed. It was hard not to act as he had been taught to act, not to demurely lower his eyes and spread his legs and look wanton. He had no idea what George wanted and the thought of asking mortified him. Hands ran up and down his thighs and gently parted them, stroking until Ron had relaxed slightly.  
  
George knelt between his legs and leaned up for another kiss. Ron kept his hands on the bed, not sure what to do with them, and when the mouth left his own in favour of kissing south, he clenched his fingers into fists and chewed into his lip. George kissed the corset, lingering over his belly and nosing against the fabric, before he reached the gap between it and the knickers. His blue eyes, lighter than Ron's own, flicked up, seeking for permission. Ron nodded wordlessly, though his mouth fell open as he saw the straight nose press into the first of the curls there, felt the sucking air which meant that George was inhaling his scent.  
  
A chin brushed against his interested cock and Ron jumped, arching his spine and pressing his hips into the air. A breathy chuckle was his only response before silky lips ghosted over the tip of his cock. A wet swipe of George's tongue soon followed whilst the hands returned to his legs.  
  
“You look so good,” George moaned. “I never thought... your legs are...” the moan reverberated into Ron's shaft and they groaned together. “Taste good too.”  
  
Ron's gasp hit the dark ceiling as George sucked him in to his mouth. His fingernails dug into the skin of his palms but he didn't release the tight shapes, he only tightened them as George moaned again. Ron raised his head and forced himself to look down the flat line of his belly, to watch the darkened auburn head bob at his crotch, to feel the corresponding wetness on his cock as George licked at him. When his stare was met, Ron thrust slightly, lodging himself deeper inside. There was no complaint and so he thrust again before giving himself over to a rhythm. Tiny grunts escaped his lips as he moved, unable to stop and unable to change his pace. George kept looking, encouraging with his eyes until Ron could take it no more and had to close his own.  
  
That was also the point he unfurled his fingers and let them grip the duvet beneath his body, fisting the cotton and pulling it out of shape. Without much thought he let them spring to the corset, flattening his palms and feeling the material beneath them. The sweat on his skin heightened the sensation as he ran them all over his covered chest and back down again to wrap his thumb and forefinger in a ring around the base of his cock. George kissed his fingers momentarily before returning to sucking. Ron gave up. He reached for his brother's hair, sank his fingers into the thick fire there, and held on tight.  
  
He remained that way until he struggled to sitting. He thrust one hand out behind him for support and splayed the other set of fingers on George's scalp. A hot forehead brushed against his belly and Ron bucked, spreading his legs wide so that one trailed off the bed and the other rested against the cold wall.  
  
“George, I'm not going to...” he hissed through clenched teeth as George took him to the root, and he felt the tip of his cock hit wet throat muscle. “George, I need to... Oh gods... George, stop I'm...”  
  
He tried everything, but his words became babble and his tone heightened until they were nothing but moans of desperation.  
  
“Please,” he muttered, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, curling his toes in the stockings.  
  
A gentle hum was all it took.  
  
Ron screwed up his face, as sweaty and as tear-stained as it was, and burst his orgasm out in a rough howl which sounded far too desperate in the small room. It sent the shame rushing back as he felt George swallow around him, carrying away his come and brief moments of pleasure before he fell back into the darkness.  
  
When the lips were gone, all he could hear were harsh breaths, but Ron couldn't open his eyes. He sat, clenched in the dark, his cock wet with spit and a few drizzles of spunk. His chest was restricted by the harsh corset boning and his feet and legs were suddenly hot.  
  
“Help me,” he choked, reaching for the fabric to tear it off. “I need...”  
  
George helped him without single spoken word, uncovering his body with a speed that Ron could not have rivalled even in his happiest state. He sat and shivered as his body became naked, not looking, not speaking, only trembling.  
  
When it was finally over he drew his legs up to his body and threw his arms around them, burying his head in his knees and prepared himself for the sound of the door closing. It was a surprise when there were hands on his back, sliding down to his hips, and George pulled him. He was barely aware of the fact that he was sitting in between the man's legs, back-to-chest, or that the grip on his body was vice-tight. He felt the duvet come up over their legs and settle at their waists. A hand brushed his fringe away from his eyes, and then guided him to lean back onto George's shoulder.  
  
He turned his face inward and smelt the ginger ale smell again, before he puckered his lips and pressed a kiss to the hot skin. Ron felt another tear course over the bridge of his nose, it's path distorted by the awkward tilt of his head. He followed it all the way onto his other cheek and held his breath for the moment that it would jump ship, the moment that it would wet George's skin and give him away.  
  
“It's okay,” George murmured down to him. “I don't care what you do, I just don't want you to be alone.”  
“I'm sorry.”  
“For what? Sorry that someone was stupid enough to chuck you away? I know, at the minute, it doesn't feel like it, but, it's their loss.”  
“It's been four months,” Ron choked on the truth.  
“That means nothing. You miss someone, you miss someone. No set healing period. You just sit and...”  
  
He trailed off and Ron felt a gentle hand stroking his hair. The motion was soothing and he closed his eyes, enjoying the sound of George's pulse beneath his ear. It felt like forever since he had been _that_ close for another human being.  
  
“Where were you going, dressed like that?” George asked, some time later, when Ron's face had begun to dry.  
“A club we used to go to... there were some people we used to play with and... I thought that they might...”  
“I don't want you to go on your own,” George answered him, a protective steel lacing into his tone. “You're not...”  
“Strong enough.”  
“In the right frame of mind to walk into a room dressed that provocatively on your own,” George supplied tactfully. “Strength doesn't come into it.”  
  
The hold around him tightened and Ron shivered, feeling loved. It was amazing how the warmth helped him.  
  
He had no idea what to say to thank George for his understanding.  
  
“I want to...”  
“In the morning,” George whispered.  
  
Ron felt his brother's arm move and could tell through his eyelids that the entire flat had been plunged into darkness.  
  
“Bed, now,” George ordered, giving Ron a little shove. “Lie down on your side, facing the wall.”  
  
Ron found it easy to follow the orders and found himself grateful for their presence. He tried to curl up into a ball, but George's immediate presence prevented him; the tiny bed required them both to stretch out to their thinnest to lie comfortably. Arms wrapped around him and dragged him back into George's chest once more.  
  
“Go to sleep,” George murmured in his ear, and then kissed it. “We'll talk when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere.”  
  
 _-fin-_


End file.
